


You've Got Mail

by Jadesfire



Category: Doctor Strange (2016)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-18 03:17:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13091310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadesfire/pseuds/Jadesfire
Summary: "Did you have my mail forwarded?""I did." On the other end of the line, he could hear the hospital in the background as Christine walked through the corridors. "I thought that now you were back in the city, you should at least attempt to rejoin the rest of us.""Great. So I can continue to be invited to donate to every fundraiser in the city, and," he paused, holding up a particularly lurid sheet, "order from Harold's Hungry Hoards. He's spelt 'hordes' wrong, by the way.""Well, now you have an address again, you should write to him and let him know."





	You've Got Mail

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dryad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dryad/gifts).



> With thanks to D for reassurance that the Post Office queue is a universal experience. Remaining errors are all my own work.

The thing was that, in general, Stephen was a details person. He'd had to be, both in his former life and this one. But in taking over the New York Sanctum, there had simply been so many details that one was bound to get missed. And it was the one he hadn't really thought about at all.

The man standing on the doorstep gave him a cheerful smile. "Good morning, Doctor Strange."

"Good morning," Stephen said warily. The man was in a uniform that it took him a moment to register, but it came to him when he spotted the bundle in his hand. "Is that mine?"

"Sure is." Instead of handing it over, the mailman tilted his head a little. Even though he was still smiling, there was a professional edge to it that Stephen recognised. It wasn't the smile of someone looking to make friends. "I can't help but notice," the mailman said, "that you don't have a mailbox for me to put it in."

"I wasn't really expecting to get any mail." He'd assumed that when he'd apparently disappeared off the face of the planet, everyone would have stopped writing to him. And who sent actual letters these days anyway?

"Everyone gets mail." There was no name label on the uniform, and not much distinguishing about the man himself. Average height and build, brown hair and eyes, cheerful smile with good teeth, and only a slightly crooked nose as a distinguishing mark. If he wasn't trained for it, Stephen doubted he would have even noticed that. 

"I've been away." 

The mailman nodded, apparently understanding. "Well, as this is your first delivery, I won't worry about it this time, but if you could have a mailbox put in, you won't have to come to the Post Office for your mail in the future." He finally held out the bundle of envelopes, which were held together with an elastic band. 

Stephen took them, trying not to laugh. "I'll bear that in mind," he said. "Thank you, uh…"

"Ernie, Doctor Strange. Nice to meet you." With a nod, Ernie headed back down the steps and presumably on with his daily round, leaving Stephen holding a pile of bills, circulars and take out menus, most of them forwarded from his former apartment. 

"Curious," he said, and waved the door shut again. "I wonder."

~~~

"Did you have my mail forwarded?" Figuring out trash from recycling was something else Stephen was still getting the hang of, and he tucked the phone against his shoulder as he leafed through the pile of envelopes, dropping anything that looked boring into one of the buckets he'd found in what he hoped was a broom closet. It was always possible that he was simply dropping litter into another dimension, but at least that would make it someone else's problem.

 _"I did."_ On the other end of the line, he could hear the hospital in the background as Christine walked through the corridors. _"I thought that now you were back in the city, you should at least attempt to rejoin the rest of us."_

"Great. So I can continue to be invited to donate to every fundraiser in the city, and," he paused, holding up a particularly lurid sheet, "order from Harold's Hungry Hoards. He's spelt 'hordes' wrong, by the way."

 _"Well, now you have an address again, you should write to him and let him know."_ There was a pause, a muffling of the speaker, and then Christine's voice, too fast for Stephen to interrupt. _"Sorry, I have to go. Have fun with your mail."_

After she'd hung up, Stephen let the phone fall gently back to the desk, and hesitated before putting the diner menu in the trash. Carefully, he peered into the metal bucket he'd chosen for recycling, checking that the unopened envelopes he'd dropped in there were actually sitting on the bottom. 

"Can't have people trying to order burgers from a dark dimension," he muttered, and then added the menu to the pile. 

Twenty minutes later, as he extinguished the three foot high flames, he considered that, while not what he'd been going for, it did at least mean he didn't have to worry about which dumpster the recycling went into.

~~~

When you lived in a stronghold intended to keep out creatures trying to destroy the world, it was easy to get a little jumpy. Still, Stephen thought that going straight from his study to the front door without using the stairs - or indeed the corridors - was probably something of an overreaction. On the plus side, his ability to move through space without actually moving was improving, and practice made perfect.

On the other side of the door, Ernie was holding a small pile of mail, his smile from the previous week not in evidence.

"Ernie," Stephen said, trying to sound cheerful, and not as though he'd panicked and teleported through his own house at the sound of a knock on the door. "And how are you today?"

"I'd be a lot better, Doctor Strange, if I was able to do my job properly."

"Ah, yes, the mailbox." With what he hoped was an apologetic smile, Stephen shrugged. "It does keep slipping my mind."

"I'm sure you're very busy," Ernie said, in a tone that indicated the opposite of belief, "but you do need to have one. If you can't do it yourself, you could always pay someone to do it for you."

"I could indeed." It was hard not to notice that Ernie had not yet, in fact, actually given Stephen his mail. "And I will do so. As soon as possible."

Clearly unmoved by either the promise or the grin, Ernie finally held out the pile of envelopes. He didn't let go of his side as Stephen tried to take them. "See that you do." He waited until Stephen looked up, their eyes meeting. The look was probably supposed to convey that Ernie was serious about this, and that there would be consequences if Stephen ignored him.

"Right." Tugging the mail free, Stephen gave him a finally cheery grin, and kicked the door closed. Chuckling to himself, he took the long route back to his study, looking through the mail as he went. Honestly, he had faced down rogue sorcerers and interdimensional monsters. What was one mailman going to do to him?

~~~

As he exited the building, Stephen stopped and looked back, considering. If he was very careful, he could probably do something to the brickwork. Nothing permanent, nothing that would bring the building down, just something that would express exactly how he felt about standing in line for over three quarters of an hour to collect three pieces of junk mail and an invitation to a charity ball that he wouldn't attend. Maybe something imaginative.

On the other hand, the Post Office was in a fine old building, and it probably wouldn't do to deface it. This time.

The Cloak of Levitation was waiting in the atrium when he got back, its hem fluttering in a non-existent breeze. 

Stephen narrowed his eyes. "Shut up," he said, dropping the illusion of sweater and jeans that had seemed a more inconspicuous way to visit the Chelsea Post Office. "Fine. We need a mailbox."

The hem was still fluttering as the Cloak wrapped itself around his shoulders, the gentle vibration sounding almost exactly like a muffled laugh.

~~~

Living with the Sanctum's library was a blessing and a curse. He finally had unfettered access to a magical library, and he had a responsibility to press on with his studies, to improve his knowledge. As Wong was so fond of pointing out, he still had far too much to learn. Although he did wonder sometimes if Wong deliberately delved into the more obscure history of sorcery before visiting him, just to drop random facts that Stephen had no chance of knowing into the conversation. He wouldn't put it past the man.

On the other hand, it turned out that trying to combine practice and protection wards and restoring a half-wrecked building with studies was like being back in Medical School. Most of Stephen's reading seemed to get shunted to the small hours of the morning, when he could finally settle into his study and try to commit the next lesson to memory.

While it wasn't uncommon for him to wake up and find that he was still, in fact, in his study, curled over a book or slumped uncomfortably in his chair, this was the first time that someone else had woken him up there. The fact that they did it by screaming didn't do much for Stephen's aching neck.

"What the hell?"

Ernie the mailman was standing in the middle of the study, one arm outstretched, a wad of envelopes clutched in his hand.

"Ah." Getting to his feet, Stephen held out a hand, hoping to calm the situation down. It didn't really help, because Ernie dropped the envelopes and jumped back, staring around in disbelief.

"What the hell?"

"Yes, you said that already." Stephen rubbed at his neck. He really needed to stop falling asleep at his desk. "Sorry about this."

"About what? What the hell?"

It was a fair question, and Stephen feared he knew the answer. "I think this might be my fault," he said, which was more than a little disingenuous. It wasn't like there were other sorcerers living in the New York Sanctum who might be to blame. "But you did want me to get a mailbox."

That made Ernie stop whipping his head around as though trying to see everything at once, and fix his wild stare on Stephen. "What?"

Stephen grimaced. "The thing is, I might have got my transdimensional engineering a little off." He paused, considering. "Or possibly made the trigger too sensitive. Perhaps it needs a time delay of some kind. I mean, there's clearly a spatial issue as well, as the idea was for things to arrive on my desk, not in the middle of the room. Although that probably worked out for the best, as you might have landed on my head." 

"Landed...." A glazed look was starting to come over Ernie's face, which was probably an improvement.

Sucking in a breath, Stephen shrugged. "Anyway. I am sorry about this. Let's get you back to where you should be, shall we?"

In an ideal world, he'd have used the Eye to take everything back about two minutes, and get the damn mailbox out of the way before Ernie could touch it. He really needed to dial back the sensitivity of that trigger. As it was, he took them both back down directly to the front door, which didn't do much for Ernie's glazed look, but Stephen hadn't wanted him walking past any of the magical objects that were still without cases. One close encounter was probably enough for one day.

He held out his arm towards the door, opening it and gesturing at Ernie. Rather than running away, Ernie stared at the doors for a second, looking out onto the perfectly normal New York street. Then he looked back at Stephen.

"You're letting me go?"

Stephen frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you're not going to wipe my memory or keep me here or…" Ernie waved his hands vaguely, apparently unable to think of other options. "I mean, you're not going to threaten me? Tell me not to tell anyone?"

Slowly, Stephen leaned forwards, waiting for Ernie to do the same. "Who's going to believe you?" he said, and grinned. 

He watched Ernie go, taking a wide berth around the mailbox, which Stephen couldn't really blame him for. 

"Maybe I should have just got someone to make me one," he said. The Cloak was hanging in mid-air next to the hall coat stand, where it usually waited for him. It flicked the corners of its collar, and Stephen shrugged.

"Well, yes, but we could put it on expenses. And I can't do everything around here by myself." Thoughtfully, he turned, looking back up the main staircase. Behind him, he heard the Cloak flutter again, followed by the chink of the clasps knocking together. 

"Good point. I'll ask Christine if she knows a guy."

~~~

There was no mail for a week, and no instructions for Stephen to endure the torment of the Post Office Queue again. It could just have been that no one had sent him anything, or it could have been that he'd been put on some kind of blacklist and would never receive mail again. Oddly, Stephen could probably live with that.

It wasn't like he didn't have enough else to do, and the main doors were wide open when Ernie finally appeared again, clutching his satchel to him like a shield. He knocked on the open door, flinching when Stephen turned around and smiled at him.

"Ernie, good to see you."

"And you, Doctor Strange." Still lingering on the threshold, Ernie peered around nervously. "How are you?"

"Very well, thank you. And yourself? No more unscheduled and inexplicable trips, I hope?"

If he'd been trying for humor, it didn't exactly come off. At least, Ernie didn't smile, although he didn't instantly run away either. 

"I've got your mail," he said, although no actual envelopes were in evidence.

Stephen beamed at him. "And I have a new mailbox, as you can see." He gestured to it, coming over slowly, just in case approaching was going to frighten Ernie off again. "It is, I promise, strictly mundane."

Even so, Ernie gave it a hard look. "Are you sure?"

Pressing a hand to his heart, Stephen nodded. "It was made in a workshop in New Jersey. It doesn't get much more mundane than that."

That at least got him a snort which might have been a laugh. "Glad to hear it." He finally reached into his satchel and pulled out a suspiciously large pile. "Although I suppose I can just give this to you."

"You can." Glancing up, Stephen said, "Oh, and watch your back."

He'd apparently traumatized the man sufficiently that Ernie actually tried to hide behind the mailbox as the other men approached, pushing a huge box on a trolley.

"Last one, Doctor Strange," one of them said as they manoevered it inside. "Are you sure you don't need them moving upstairs?"

"Sure, thanks. Just leave it in the hall with the others."

Ernie watched with the same deep suspicion, and in fairness to him, the array of crates in the atrium did look rather like Stephen was trying to create some kind of modern art piece. They were all big, with several of them more than large enough to hold a person, which was probably not helping.

As they took their tip and started to leave, one of them turned back to Stephen.

"There was just one thing, sir. My boss wanted me to ask, how are you going to get them open? I mean, we made them in one piece like you said."

"Good," Stephen said, cutting across him. "My instructions were very clear. It's nice to know they were followed."

"But how are you going to put things in them if they don't open?"

Resisting the urge to look at Ernie, who probably wouldn't appreciate a conspiratorial glance at this point, Stephen smiled. "I have my ways," he said airily. "Thanks for taking such good care of them."

Only once the men were gone did Ernie come out from behind the mailbox. Wordlessly, he held out the pile of mail to Stephen, who took it, needing both hands to hold the weight.

"Aren't you even going to ask?" Stephen said, flicking through the envelopes. When there was no reply, he looked up again, only to find that he was alone in the atrium again. 

Sighing, he closed the doors and dropped the pile of mail onto a side table. Having the new cabinets made had certainly saved him hours of work, but that didn't mean he had nothing left to do.

"Come on," he said, gesturing for the Cloak and starting to move the boxes around. "Let's get to work."

~~~

The new mailbox was definitely a success, as were the display cases. The Sanctum felt a lot more ordered with most artifacts back where they should be, although the Kelanchan Bells had expressed their displeasure at being locked away again by keeping him awake for three nights straight. He never did work out how the Cloak had got into the case to muffle them, but he couldn't say he wasn't grateful.

It did all mean, however, that it was a few months before he saw Ernie again, and it actually took him a minute to work out what the knock on the door was. 

"Package for you," Ernie said. "Small enough for the regular post, but a bit big for your mailbox."

Stephen had had various couriers at his door over the last few weeks, mostly bringing things that his automated eBay searches had identified, but the owner of this item had refused to use anything but the good old US Postal Service.

He nearly dropped the parcel as he tried to take it, juggling the usual collection of junk mail and circulars as well. Ernie caught it for him, apparently noticing his hands for the first time.

"Thank you," Stephen said, tipping his head to one side. "Would you mind just putting it on the table for me? Nothing in here will try to kidnap or eat you."

"Do I have your word?" Ernie asked. Enough time must have passed since the unfortunate mailbox incident that he actually smiled.

"I promise to protect you."

That got him something close to a laugh, and Ernie came in as Stephen stepped aside. "You shifted all those boxes, then," he said, putting the package down and looking around the atrium with unabashed curiosity. Ernie had his back to the entrance, and Stephen made a point of not looking towards the flicker of movement in the deep shadows of the alcove to the right of the door.

"Yes," Stephen said. "As you may have noticed, not all of the normal rules apply around here." Shifting, he gave the shadows a hard glare, narrowing his eyes, and then trying to compose his face back into a neutral expression when Ernie turned back to him.

"The only rules I worry about are postal regulations," he said with a shrug. "As long as you don't break those, I guess the rest is none of my business." 

"Quite." It probably wouldn't be a good idea to mention that the book in the package he'd just delivered could, in the wrong hands, open quite a sizeable portal to a dimension that, from what Stephen could determine, was said to be populated entirely by fish warriors. "Well, thank you again."

"Have a good day, Doctor Strange." Ernie gave the atrium a final look-around, as though aware that there was something he wasn't quite seeing, and let Stephen show him out. "See you again."

"Goodbye, Ernie." Shutting the door, Stephen rested his forehead against it, not surprised when the Cloak came and rested gently around his shoulders in what, he was sure, was an apologetic manner.

"You should be sorry," he said, flicking it behind him as he put the mail on the package and scooped everything into his arms. "If I have to start going to the Post Office again for my mail, I shall have you cut up and used for dog beds."

The Cloak, as usual, didn't reply, and Stephen accepted the way it stopped him tripping when half the mail inevitably slid out of his grasp as the other half of the apology.

~~~

Near the end of December, Stephen folded set of instructions into an envelope and taped it to a bottle that he left out for Ernie as a tip. If opened on Christmas day, the Glühwein would stay warm and flowing until the New Year. While it might be tricky to explain to his family, Stephen was sure that Ernie would make the best of it. 


End file.
